


heart of a child

by merits



Category: unOrdinary (Webcomic)
Genre: (a little fluff yknow for the fans), Angst, Dear lord help me, In which Blyke is the Avatar, Multi, a lot of symbolism for the sun in this, modern avatar au, tags will be added as i continue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28806816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merits/pseuds/merits
Summary: The Avatar: once a massive, heroic role made to stop chaos. Now, it's nothing but a title in current society. The strong are the strong, the weak are the weak, and everyone's divided for the "greater good". Something has to give way, eventually.(Or: a Modern Avatar AU, in which Blyke becomes the Avatar and John has to fit the pieces again. Slight Jlyke.)
Relationships: Arlo/Remi (unOrdinary), Blyke/John Doe (unOrdinary)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> sporadic updates.

_I didn’t ask for this._

The traffic light blinks green, the color of melting neon lights. Finds a place in the colorless night, illuminates spectors of dust and the hands on the steering wheel.

His father once told him that at the bleakest of times, everything looks colorless, pixelized. Like the world’s ending on a static television from the 20s, or his vision when he isn’t there--not wholly. If he’s being honest with himself--and god knows how long it’s been since he’s been honest with himself--it still feels like that.

He doesn’t know whose hands are on the steering wheel at positions 10 and 2. Positioned like clock hands, turning too fast and setting themselves in constant stasis again and again. He sees the hands move, and his foggy mind conjures up one statement:

_We’re running out of time._

Something snaps and pinwheels in his chest down to his stomach. The green of the traffic lights has never looked more muddy. Like the sea near his old hometown. The one he could never control with his two, broken hands.

The lighthouse is broken there, and he is drowning.


	2. CRY YOU MAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ARC 1: THE BEGINNING.
> 
> (Or: Blyke's 16th birthday, part 1.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are now in ARC 1: THE BEGINNING.
> 
> Thank you to [Dandy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandydonut) for letting me talk about points for this story, it helped a lot! He was also the one who came up with Blyke's last name of Yun. Please go check out his story: Tomorrow, Before Yesterday Begins.
> 
> This is the extremely long official chapter. The first chapter is WAY ahead of the current story. It'll make more sense once we get to that part, but it won't be for a long time. More information will be revealed next chapter. I'll also be making a playlist for this story soon!

They’re sitting under the wisteria tree, concrete reflecting hues of purple that soon spill across their shoes. He sees purple in the shine of their shoes, purple on Blyke’s nails, purple coloring his cheeks like moonstone. It lingers for a bit longer before Blyke turns away.

“Blyke,” he speaks up. “What’s your favorite color?” John knows the answer, but he has to ask. He likes the way Blyke says it.

Blyke lets out a breath and huffs, but smiles anyway. “Blue. Like the color of the sky.” He looks up when he says that. The purple rests on his lips. John wants to wipe it away with his thumb, wants to find pink again.

“Why?” He’s softer, gentler, like being any louder would disrupt the universe in their hands. He’s softer, gentler, like Blyke would leave if he was louder.

“I’ve always wanted to fly, you know. Haven’t you been on a flight simulator?” Blyke adjusts himself and keeps his head on John’s lap. He grins, wide and toothy, pearly whites shining. “You know, like in any sort of arcade? Didn’t you go there? Or even iFly?”

John’s breath hitches and he stiffens, before relaxing again. “I...I didn’t have a lot of...downtime.” His heart beats faster and louder.

“Ah.” Blyke’s expression softens. “Well, that’s too bad. I think you would’ve liked them.”

“Maybe.”

“Anyway.” He waves a hand. “What’s your favorite color? You never told me.”

And Blyke looks up at him, eyes reflecting purple in impossible shades, the gold shining so indescribably beautiful. Like summer after the rain shower, the golden light dappling the floor of the world with specks of light, of heaven. He is summer.

“Well,” John starts carefully, “I’ve always liked gold.”

⌑⌑⌑

“Get up!”

Isen promptly falls out of his bed and hits his head on the edge of the nightstand. “Ow…,” he says, rubbing his head gingerly. “DUDE!” He looks up at Blyke. “That hurt like hell....”

Blyke sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose before shoving the blanket away from Isen’s legs. “We’re gonna be late. Come on! Hurry up, or I’m not waiting for you.”

“Alright, alright! God, you’re so annoying,” he mumbles. “I get it, it’s your birthday, but shut up.”

“Let me think about that...no.” Blyke knows he’s being especially irritating, but he’s allowed to make a big deal out of his own birthday. Just because he asked his friends not to make a big deal doesn’t mean he can’t do it for himself. He’s turning 16 for god’s sake. “Up, up, up! It’s Friday! We have a big day ahead of us.”

“Ugh…,” Isen yawns, blinks his eyes blearily, and checks the time on his phone. His breath stops short and suddenly, he’s a lot more awake now than he was before.

He’s annoyed. No, scratch that, he’s _pissed._ He’s tired and pissed off and he feels like his head is going to explode because it hurts that badly. He got almost no good sleep and this is his treatment. _What a fucking dickhead._ He gathers wind in the palm of his hand, holds it in a ball, and marches over to the living room.

Blyke senses him and turns his head from the television, arms currently resting behind the couch. “Wow, done alread—”

Isen blasts him with the condensed air. “You _fucker,”_ he says through clenched teeth. “You’re a bitch. When did you even learn how to lie?! You’re a shit liar!”

“UH—”

“For fucks sake, it’s 7:30! School doesn’t start for another hour! And you just _had_ to make me lose beauty sleep. You’re annoying.”

Blyke stretches on the floor. He glares, irritated. “Maybe if you actually got up at a reasonable time and didn’t make us borderline late every single day, I wouldn’t have to wake you up early, asshole!” He flips him off.

Isen nearly growls and is so close to pouncing on him. “Shut. Up.” He walks away, muttering obscenities.

When they leave their room, the bags under Isen’s eyes are far too notable.

⌑⌑⌑

When he gets to his locker, he's not surprised to see everyone waiting.

It's a quiet state of affairs, passing gifts around without crinkling the paper, eating a red velvet cupcake after singing happy birthday in hushed whispers, mumbling what they're going to do after school to celebrate. Nobody likes making a fuss about someone's birthday. No balloons tied to his backpack, no party hats, no streamers taped to the metal of his locker, to the combination dial of his lock.

Nobody makes a fuss about their 16th. That’s an unspoken rule.

Blyke says his gratitude quietly, grabs his textbooks, shuffles his feet. Waits for everyone else to catch up. The sound of their shoes clicks against the tile, bouncing off the metal and the lights, hollow echoes sounding throughout the hallway. John falls in step next to him, right hand inching closer to Blyke’s left. The chatter around them dulls away.

⌑⌑⌑

It's not that John doesn't want to work with Blyke now. He does. Blyke's good at working efficiently and teaching him concepts, left hand making notes in the margins of John's paper alongside the erased doodles of carefully shaded eyes and rocks. He enunciates his words clearly and carefully, connecting and reconnecting his points until John understands the idea. He's not patient, but, well. Everyone has a trade‐off. Everyone has some kind of Achilles heel. 

It's just that Blyke now seems too fucking _pretty._ And cool. And almost other-worldly. Fuck. He is all of that. John can’t concentrate on his work when he’s too close to Blyke, and yes it’s so cliche but he’s known Blyke for a year and _god,_ Blyke’s always been sweet on him. 

This is so difficult.

John should pay attention, but the blood red of Blyke's hair—longer now, in the back, up to his shoulders—is distracting. He wants to run his hands through it, gently, pressing his cheek into Blyke's hair, hold his hand later. To know what it means to like someone that much, enough to fall into ruin.

_Fucking shit._ The least he could do in this moment is whisper happy birthday so that only the two of them can hear. He’s so fucking out of it.

He shakes his head and peers over Blyke’s shoulder. “So,” he says too loudly, “what’s the project on?”

“Dude! Don’t scare me like that!” Blyke glares at him, piercing gaze boring holes in his head. If looks could kill, that would be it. John shrugs and smiles.

Blyke sighs, relaxes his shoulders and expression. He looks back down on his assignment paper, little notes scribbled out in graphite next to neat ink. “Anyway…,” he starts again, low, “it’s on some kind of thing about rebirth and reincarnation. Like ‘do your research on the known instances of reincarnation within people.’”

“That’s….what?”

Blyke lets out a huff and leans back in his chair, face contorting into a scowl. “The only thing close to reincarnation or rebirth is when the Avatar spirit is passed down from one person to another.”

“...Explain.”

“Basically,” he says while taking out a blank piece of paper, “it goes like this.” Blyke makes a poorly drawn spirit with arrows everywhere. “Back in older times, the Avatar spirit used to be passed down by the previous Avatar’s death. They got access to all these past lives from the Avatar spirit, hence the Avatar is reincarnated or “reborn” into the next person with bending in the cycle. It goes Fire, Air, Water, Earth.”

“Okay….so why is that concerning now.”

Blyke moves on to the other half of his paper, ignoring the old cycle altogether. “Because it’s not like that anymore. Now that we’re here, the Avatar cycle isn’t passed on by death—or so it appears. The Avatar isn’t _necessary_ anymore, so as long as you turn 16 on the day or closest to the day the old Avatar just happens to pass down the Avatar spirit, anyone can become the Avatar. No one knows the exact criteria except for the previous Avatar and anyone close to them. I know a few people have figured it out, but it’s kept a secret.”

“What’s the point?” John huffs out.

Blyke shrugs. “Suspense. Surprising. Anything, really. It’s a secret. I don’t even think the cycle of elements is followed, anyway. Last I heard, the current Avatar is an Airbender and was chosen six years ago.”

John scratches his chin. “So our class project is on the Avatar? Why now?”

“I’m honestly not sure. Nor do I feel like questioning the reason. That’s Seraphina’s job. Let’s just see if we can get started.”

John perks up and stares at Blyke with wide eyes. “You know, you seem to know a lot about the Avatar. Most people don’t bother learning this stuff even though Wellston has had the most number of Avatars.”

“Mmm….I like learning about stuff like this. I only know basic level stuff, though. I used to read up on the Avatar in the library back home….mom encouraged me to learn this stuff while I could.”

“While you could?” John takes out his notebook and pencil case, slowly unzipping the case and taking out a gold pencil.

Blyke dots his paper and doesn’t look up while speaking. “Mom’s always had a hard time, so she’s super busy back home and didn’t get a lot of time to take me places. Now, it’s easier for her to take my siblings. But, she had to work a lot even though my extended family practically grew up next door.” John notices his voice lowered from the beginning, and knows this: Blyke wears his emotions on his sleeve, but keeps any cause of those emotions far too secret. Open up one page, but the next one is glued down shut. “Honestly? I kind of just want to take her on a vacation. She worries about me a lot.”

John rests his head on his arms and looks to the side. Everything’s a little blurry. He squints, and hums. “I know that feeling.” he says, low, almost too low for anyone to hear.

He can’t hear the scratch of graphite on paper anymore. Blyke stopped writing. “You….you do?”

“Mhm…I’m not from Wellston...my dad worries about me. He worries I won’t be able to take care of myself, or I’ll get too angry and push someone over the edge.”

“Angry?”

John’s breath hitches in his throat. He said too much. “Uh...something...happened a few years ago.” The wind starts wafting into the classroom. The sun shines its light into the classroom, directly into Blyke’s hair. Beautiful, golden rays, making the room feel ethereal. “A lot happened a few years ago. It’s why I moved to Wellston. Wellston offered us something.”

Blyke doesn’t ask. He pats John’s head and goes back to his notes, instead.

⌑⌑⌑

Isen nearly falls asleep on his desk. _I don’t get paid to deal with Blyke’s bullshit…._

Distantly, he hears Seraphina sigh and feels someone shaking his shoulder. He blearily opens his eyes. “Wake up, Isen. I can’t keep taking notes for you.” She doesn’t sound angry or annoyed, merely exhausted. “Just pick up your pencil before the teacher sees you asleep.”

Isen rubs his eyes and shakily picks up his pencil, grip slackening. He yawns before flipping his notebook, writing down the lesson plan in light chicken scratch. He can barely even see what he wrote, but he turns to Seraphina. “Sorry, Seraphina,” he apologizes earnestly. He doesn’t prefer wasting time (unless it’s Blyke’s).

Seraphina turns away and waves her hand. “It’s whatever.” She doesn’t sound cool or nonchalant about it. “Not a big deal.” Her voice is stiff, cold, like ice.

The windows are cold, but Isen feels a chill go down his spine. He glances at her paper, and it’s empty for once. She’s distant, far away from his grasp. This isn’t the new Seraphina. This isn’t the current Seraphina.

This is the queen.

He’s wide awake now, back rimrod straight, gripping the pencil so tightly that his fingers hurt now. The broken clip scratches his wrist, leaving gritty white lines along the surface of his skin. He doesn’t rub them away. He wants to ask her what’s going on. He wants to know. There’s something wrong already, on _Blyke’s birthday._

He takes out his headphones and sets the volume on his phone to low before going back and taking notes from the smartboard.

⌑⌑⌑

Remi walks through the double doors of the cafeteria, lunch in hand, beaming today. She hears a couple people whisper, but she doesn’t mind. She grabs a few utensils before skipping towards the roof. There’s a cupcake in her bag for Blyke, bittersweet chocolate with mocha frosting.

Everyone’s already on the rooftop when she gets there. No one’s really talking, but that’s fine. Isen’s busy poking Seraphina’s shoulder with his pen.

“Isen, stop bothering her!” She takes out her lunch and the little takeout box with the cupcake. She discreetly passes it over to Blyke, who takes it without a word and nods to her.

“What? Seraphina’s reading something and I wanna know. She’s been reading the same thing since class.” He tries to look over her shoulder.

Seraphina glares at him, eyes looking icy cold instead of sky-like. “I’ll show you in a bit,” she grits out through her teeth, probably this close to blasting heavy wind in his face and knocking him off the roof. “I just...I just need to process something.”

Arlo cocks his head. “What could be so important that you’re keeping it a secret from the rest of us, hm?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she snaps back, immediately going back to her phone and tapping her chin. “It’s important, I’ll tell Isen in a bit and he can tell you.”

“We’re all here, just tell us now.”

“I. Said. Later.”

“Leave her alone,” John pipes up. He looks irritated, like he’s about to freeze them to the rooftop permanently. And Remi wouldn’t be surprised if he did that.

Everyone goes silent, save for the few chewing noises occasionally. At the very least, it feels awkward, sun no longer shining golden warmth but instead blasting too-bright rays. It’s almost blinding.

“Um, guys….?” Elaine finally speaks up, voice shaky and positively scared out of her mind. “I, uh, heard something….earlier.”

“What is it,” John nearly _hisses._ “Spit it out.”

She backs down a bit, but smoothes out the crinkles in her skirt before proceeding. “Apparently, there’s supposed to be some kind of assembly today…?”

Arlo stops eating. “Where’d you hear that from?”

Elaine waves her hand. “I heard it from some guy in class. Apparently he had to go to the office and once he left, Vaughn and Keene were talking about it. He didn’t hear much, but that’s probably why classes are shorter today....”

“Wonder what it’s for? Maybe some kind of new system? New class structure?” Remi ponders out loud.

“Doubtful.” Blyke inserts himself into the conversation for the first time. He’s eating his cupcake. “They would’ve said something in the morning announcements, and Cecile would’ve had it in the newspaper by now. They would’ve told her first since she’s Press Leader. Plus, Isen would’ve known by now if that was the case.”

“True...Hey, you know? Maybe it’s some special announcement for your birthday! Birthday boy Blyke!” Isen says this jokingly, inciting laughter.

Only John notices Seraphina whip her head up far too quickly, eyes widened in alarm and breath quickening. Silently, he takes out his phone and texts her.

**u ok?**

The three dots leave as quickly as they appear before she sends her message.

**No.**

**u wanna talk about it?**

**Can’t yet. I don’t know if it’s true.**

“Shit,” Seraphina mumbles under her breath. “Birthday….the article from a few days ago….fuck.”

_Shit, shit, shit shit shitshitshitshitshitshit._

She pockets her phone, quietly gets up, and leaves with her tray. She walks away briskly, nauseous, not wanting to be around them anymore.

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she hears someone call out her name before she slams the door, footsteps following closely behind her.

“Sera! Sera, what’s—”

“I...I can’t tell you yet.” She turns around to face John. He watches her fists clench tightly and he knows the palms of her hands are going to bleed soon, red dripping down onto the tile. “I can’t, not yet.”

“What do you mean?”

Seraphina inhales slowly, shakily, willing herself to bite back everything she suspects. All of it almost tumbles out of her mouth, but she only lets a few key phrases go through her filter. “If I’m right, and dear god I hope I’m **not right,** something’s going to happen at this assembly. And it’s going to change everything.” Her voice is near prophetic, so contrasting to her normal demeanor. She clutches her arms and looks down, shuffling her foot around, stepping backwards, away from him. She’s _scared._

He remembers the winter days, two years ago, seeming so far in the past, when someone was like this. Nearly crying, crazed, hair all mussed up and sticking out at the ends. Bloodshot eyes, shaking him, telling him _leave leave LEAVE YOU HAVE TO GET OUT._ It cuts him like a knife, open-wounded. Her voice cuts him open slowly, like a scalpel, like he’s a boy under the operating table. Blood pools in the wound. His hands are dull, sticky, with her blood and his blood and someone’s blood, once again.

Her voice is almost demonic, a bad omen. Something’s coming. Something’s coming, and it’ll change everything, and she knows what and it’s going to hurt someone. Something’s coming. His hands feel numb, dull. Again.

It haunts him.

⌑⌑⌑

**Sera?**

**? Claire?**

**Do you or John know a red-haired guy? He has gold eyes, but that’s all I can remember really**

**Yes...he’s one of our close friends. Why…**

**Be on the lookout. Be careful.**

⌑⌑⌑

The last class of the day ends early, with the speakers going off and telling everyone to head to the gym.

_All students and teachers, head to the gym. I repeat, all students and teachers, head to the gym. You are not allowed to skip this assembly. We will be making sure all students are there. Head to the gym._

John’s teacher claps her hands together. “Okay! Leave your bags here, you can grab them afterwards.” Students start gathering together and ask what they think the assembly will be about under hushed voices. John gets up stiffly, Sera’s voice and expression ringing clear in his mind, thoughts racing a mile a minute and rattling around in his skull.

The voices beyond him are hollow, empty, nothing. He gets to the gym too quickly. Spots his friends on the bleachers closest to the right doors. He picks up the pace, climbs up a couple steps, and sits next to Sera. He squeezes her hand, resting on her leg, in some kind of reassurance. As if to say, _hey, I’m here too, don’t worry, we’ll see._ Arlo glances up from his phone briefly and nods toward him.

_Welcome to hell._

Isen, who sits on John’s other side, elbows him. “Hey.” John and Sera turn towards him.

“What?”

“See the cameras?” They look to the front of the gym and John already knows Sera’s jumping to conclusions. “Giant camera crew. Red light. Vaughn’s sitting away with a microphone. They’re airing this live.”

“What does that have to do with anything…,” John asks.

“Well, for starters,” Isen points up, “almost _nothing_ gets aired unless it’s some kind of earth-shattering announcement. Like a pandemic or some kind of genocide. Something big. Certainly not anything at Wellston.” He looks at Sera when he says this. She looks away, caught in the spotlight.

“Okay...and would you happen to know what this ‘something’ is?” John prods.

“No...but,” he rests his mouth into a hard line. “Seraphina does. Or at least, she thinks she does. Am I right?”

“Lay off, Isen.”

“Fine, fine. But she knows what’s going on, and she’s not telling us.”

“We’ll—” He’s interrupted by the screech of the microphone, which bounces off the walls. Everyone covers their ears and groans, annoyed.

Vaughn gets up and walks to the center of the gym. He taps the microphone three times with his finger and clears his throat. “Good afternoon, students.” His voice rings clear in the gym, calm and collected. Like crystal water. “I hope you’re all having a fine day. If you could, I’d like for you to be silent and pay attention.”

The gym immediately quiets, all sounds dying except for the clicks of cameras from all walls. Cecile’s somewhere down there with a few members of the press.

“As some of you may know, there is something extremely special, of which I was only informed of last night. That is why your class schedule is shorter today. The announcement itself is brief, but many of you—and the interviewers over there,” he points at them while something akin to disdain curls around his voice, “will have questions, of which I will answer. But I first have to ask you all to **be respectful.”** He says this boldly, cutting through anyone still talking. “You will only ask questions to me or Keene, and that is final. You will see why in a few moments, and if I catch any one of you disregarding these rules, there will be severe consequences.” His tone is final.

After a moment of silence (of which Arlo lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding), Vaughn continues. “Now, with that out of the way, Blyke Yun, please step down and come stand next to me.”

Blyke doesn’t realize his name’s being called until Remi forcibly stands him up, guiding him away from the bleachers. He stumbles on his feet and can hear several chuckles, but he pays no mind to them. He stands next to the headmaster, much more imposing than he. “Yes, sir?” He looks up.

Vaughn smiles at him, genuine, and it’s almost heartwarming. It’d be more beautiful if there weren’t cameras pointed at them and spotlights almost burning him through the mats. His voice is warm like honey: “I heard it’s your 16th birthday today.”

“16th birthday…,” John whispers to himself. He whips his head around to Sera, mouth open wide. He feels the blood rush to his head. “No…”

Sera’s teeth are gritted and he can almost hear them grinding against each other. Her eyebrows are furrowed, but she looks straight at Blyke, almost in despair. Almost to say, _Please no, my god….please don’t let me be right._ Isen stares pointedly at her, but his expression is almost entirely blank. He waits.

John remembers the conversation from his first period. _Closest to the day they turn 16…._

_Wait...this is what Sera meant? Is she….is she right?_

“Um, yes, it is my 16th birthday, sir,” he answers sheepishly, scratching his cheek. He doesn’t really want the spotlight on him, but he refuses to let his voice waver even when all the cameras are pointed at him. People are watching _him._

“Well, Mr. Yun, we have found something out.” He looks sad, almost pitiful? Like a thousand suns have come crashing down to Earth.

And Blyke feels a billion eyes on him all of a sudden. A cold pit in his stomach has settled and rolls around. He feels nauseous. Sweat pools on his forehead and he tries to wipe his clammy hands on his pants. He’s not—he’s not—

_It feels familiar….it feels like Deja Vu….what’s...what’s going—_

He looks back at his friends. Isen stares blankly; John is open-mouthed, almost gasping; Seraphina’s head is down, almost in shame; Remi’s concerned; Arlo is neutral; Elaine is confused. They’re all so different. Someone knows. Someone knows what’s going on.

He remembers the first class. _16th birthday...step down…_

His head spins.

“Mr. Yun, are you listening? Are you okay?” Headmaster Vaughn looks at him in concern. Blyke lets out a breath and wills himself to pull it together, god he’s on national television, he should be better.

“Y-Yes.” He cringes at how high-pitched and shaky his voice sounds.

Vaughn doesn’t believe him, but that’s okay. “We’re proud to announce this,” Vaughn moves quickly. He sounds like he’s reading off a practiced script, like someone wrote this for him. Anything genuine is now gone, replaced by too-loud acting with disgust laden in his voice, oh-so-carefully put in there. Like he doesn’t _like_ this. “Today is Blyke Yun’s 16th birthday. The 16th birthday is not normally special, but to very few people in their lifetime, the 16th birthday marks something incredibly special. Blyke Yun’s 16th birthday marks something incredibly important in our history, not only as faculty members, but as members of society.”

“For thousands of years, we have been watching people grow and die with the most power at the tips of their fingertips. We have watched them use their power for very little, but nevertheless acting as a catalyst for something else to change. We have watched and sat by. Some of you may have hoped you would get this chance in life. For some of you, this is a power only seen in news articles and television headlines, from the safety of your home or dorm room. For some of you, this may be the first and last time you ever hear of this happening right next to you.”

_Please, please, please, please please please pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease—_

“I am proud to announce that…”

_Don’t do this._

_“You_ are our new Avatar. Avatar Blyke.”

The applause gets louder and louder, fills his head with nothing but endless hope, all the expectations of the world suddenly piling and piling on his frail shoulders. Until he can’t hear anything anymore. Until everything shatters in his eardrums. Until the thousand suns come crashing down on him, instead.

Somewhere, somehow, far away from here, or maybe too close to him, the first sun dies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](https://stingro.tumblr.com)  
> [Reddit](https://www.reddit.com/user/mer-its)  
> Come say hi!

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: stingro  
> reddit: mer-its  
> come say hi!


End file.
